


On Your Mother's Grave

by Miazaz



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Episode 87 tag, Found Family, Gen, author plays fast and loose with non-existent backstory, friends - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-26
Updated: 2017-02-26
Packaged: 2018-09-27 03:32:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9951293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miazaz/pseuds/Miazaz
Summary: “Been a lot of talking about moms, lately. Felt kinda left out.”Grog and Keyleth, Vessyra and memories of a mother.





	

Keyleth was always real emotional. She let her feelings get to her head, all the time, good or bad. It made her Keyleth. It made her real annoying some days, but it made her Keyleth all the same.

So he thinks she’s one of the easier people to read. When she’s happy, she’s happy, and everything seems a little more colorful or whatever. Kind of like Pike, when she’s happy, but different -- ‘cause there’s only one Pike. Or when they were bargaining with Raishan, and her rage filled the room and rang his ears like it was his own blood.

In a way, he thinks, it kinda was.

But he knows Keyleth. And he knows, by the twitch in her jaw and the flex of her fingers, that she’s gonna stumble when she stands, because wounded deer move unsteady when they push too hard, and Keyleth is nothing right now if not wounded.

He has his hand on her back as she moves, from his place behind her. He doesn’t think these people will attack her, but he thinks he helps her look somewhat intimidating. A little more intimidating. Kind of -- okay, look, he’s a magician not a god, there’s limits. There’s limits. But these people don’t know her and they can talk all day but he can’t stand and let them doubt her. He has her back, literally, where he stands, and when _she_ stands he knuckles into her spine to keep her straight and guide her up.

She catches her bearings and evens her feet, _atta girl_. Nobody saw nothing, and their Princess gets to shave face, or whatever it is Percy says they do while talking to people.

* * *

Staying in a place that isn’t camp, or the Mansion is unsettling in a way he didn’t miss. It’s an itch on his senses, and not a good one. When they camp, see, they’re all together, and they all take turns watching over each other. But here, they’re all split up and have to just trust nothing will happen.

That cat-faced fucker what almost killed Vax brought assassins to Whitestone, caught them unawares, and that was their home, with people paid to watch out. Here it’s a whole city of strangers and unfamiliar turf, and Keyleth might call them family but blood means nothing. He knows better than that.

It’s just a round, just a quick look, and he wasn’t gonna sleep anyway, so what’s it hurt? If he stops by the rooms of Vox Machina to listen for anything shady, it’s on his way. And if he stops at Taryon’s room, it’s definitely _not_ because he’s thinking about running in and telling him a big fuck-off dragon found them out here in the middle of nowhere and everyone’s _dead_ , oh, no, you gotta go kill it. Good to know it sounds like he’s in the room he’s supposed to be in, though, for absolutely no reason at all that brings him no comfort whatsoever.

He stops walking at the sound of feet, draws back to the wall and sets his shoulders as they pad and shuffle over the wet stone. He relaxes some as the footsteps come closer -- they don’t sound very confident, whoever it is. The sight of a figure cutting the corner draws his attention, a tall woman, slight of build, head down. Her hair hides her face, but something about it looks familiar. He’s really good at colors, though, and that’s a color he recognizes.

And that circlet of antlers in her hands is _real_ familiar shape.

“Oi, Keyleth,” he calls, and she jumps, jackrabbit reflex and a hardness in her eyes as she tenses up to look at him. He feels a smile tug at his mouth, a warmth of pride in his chest at the warrior in her, even here in what should feel like a home.

“Grog. Hey.” She takes a deep breath, resettles her circlet in her hands. “I didn’t know you were up.”

“You, too. What are you doin’ up?”

“Oh, you know. I just… wanted to take a look around! Get some fresh air -- this place is _so_ pretty, isn’t it? It’s just so pretty, and I wanted to see it with the… the stars and the moon and the --”

“Keyleth.” It’s a bad habit, hers, talking way too much. He never quite trained it out of her yet.

“Right. Sorry. Just wanted to think some, is all.” Her hands tighten around the circlet, fingers white at the knuckles where they set on the antlers.

He says it before he thinks, but it feels bad, like a lie, even though he knows it isn’t. “‘Bout your mom.”

She closes her eyes and her expression hurts. She nods, then tries to smile and look up at him.

“Been a lot of talking about moms, lately. Felt kinda left out.”

Grog stares at her, crossing his arms. “Should we talk about it?”

“Huh?” She looks as off-balance as he feels which makes him feel a little more confident.

“That’s the thing, innit? We don’t know enough about each other. I wanna know about your mom.”

Keyleth’s face shifts into something, something sharp, then sad, then a smile through that, and she presses her palms together in front of her face.

“Well,” she starts, sticky. “I think she’s alive.” Her hands fall. “Which… is good. I think. I hope. Maybe. I want it to be. She’s been missing for so long, I’d started to lose hope. Or I thought I had. Maybe I never did, I just pushed down really far?”

She looks up at him and he can’t believe how small she seems with her big sad eyes and weak smile. He gets that feeling in his chest like when he sees Pike, but different, maybe not as intense. Pike knows how to handle this better than him, but he can try, and he reaches out to rest his hand on Keyleth’s shoulder, careful not to jostle her around too much. The entirety of her collar from neck to bicep is covered, but her face seems happier for the weight of it.

“I had… when my mom went missing. I thought she’d come back. She didn’t. Maybe Vilya is stronger.” He nods. “You’ll find her.”

Keyleth presses her mouth tight, and draws her eyes tighter. “You know her name?” Her head jerks suddenly. “Wait, oh -- what? Missing? Your mom went missing, too? What, Grog, when?”

He shrugs. “I was little.” The memory stings, less than some, more than others and it feels heavy in his mouth. It’s unfamiliar, exposing, and reminds him something of Craven Edge, of the fight with the Sphinx, and maybe that’s what this is. “She went huntin’. Didn’t come back. Lots of them didn’t. Sometimes, hunting parties just don’t. The herd never really went lookin’.”

“Oh,” she breathes. “I-I’m sorry, Grog. I didn’t know.”

“No, right, it’s not like I said anything about it or nothin’ before. Never really wanted to. But I thought, you know, maybe it’d… help or whatever.”

“I don’t know if ‘help’-- you know, never mind that. Never mind. I’m glad you told me. I’m…” Her shoulders tense like a weight landed on her and he wonders what he said wrong. She sounds tired when she picks up. “I’m sorry I never knew that. I’m sorry you went through that -- this, too. I’m sorry, Grog.”

He pulls his hand from her shoulder and claps it against his free one. “So … this Kraken, right?”

“Grog…” She follows, reaching forward to settle her hand against his elbow. “Grog, you know we love you, right? You’re family. You’re my family.”

They say that a lot, especially lately. He thinks they need the reminders, the ones who think too much, and stay stuck in their heads where things get hazy. “I know that,” he says, and he does, but an ache follows. Scanlan could talk anyone out of anything, including himself, but sometimes the others are persuasive, too. “We’re family. We’re in this fight together.”

“Yeah,” she says, and her voice sounds more like her. It feels more like the home he put together with them. The heaviness in his gut like bad meat disappears with her sadness, something he thinks Vax called “nostalgia” lingering in his mind.

“Hey, Grog?”

“Yeah?”

“What was your mom’s name?”


End file.
